Tuesday, November 26, 2013

That time I ran a marathon

In honor of the fabulous Mama Laughlin’s first 26.2 over the
weekend (which you can read about here), I thought I’d share my
marathon story.

I’ve been a reluctant runner for the last three years, and
after lots of stress and back-and-forths and self-doubt, I decided in March
that 2013 would be the year I ran the big kahuna. A full marathon. I was
already planning to donate my hair in the summer and figured I’d make 2013 the
year of two huge bucket list cross offs.

New kicks for the start of training: Mizuno Wave Inspire 9

I’ve already written about my running journey (yeahhhh
T-Swift), so this post is dedicated lovingly I mean PAINFULLY I mean PROUDLY to the Twin Cities Marathon on October 6, 2013. Also known as the day
one of my dreams came true.

I trained my ass off for this race. Actually, I trained my
knee off for this race. To the point that at 6 weeks before the race, I had 3
doctors visits in one week to try to figure out what the problem was. I would
have no pain while running (because I’m not a moron, if I was in excruciating pain
on every run, I would stop) and then almost immediately after, my right knee
would swell up like a balloon. Joy.

Ew. Just ew.

Long story short, after a $575 MRI came
back inconclusive, I told my doctor (who is sports med and was running the same
marathon) that in no uncertain terms, I WOULD be running the marathon on
October 6, and asked her to help me get to the start line.

She tried to drain the fluid out of my knee (also
unsuccessful for the most part) and ended up shooting me up with cortisone and
sending me on my way.

Before I go any further, I feel that it is important to note
that I am an anxious runner. I compare myself to others. I care about my time
too much. I gauge my runs based on my time and time alone. I get pissed if I
run anything slower than a 10:30 minute mile. I don’t walk. I don’t change my
pace. These are all unfortunate running habits that I was forced to work on
through my injury, and am continuing to work on now that running distance seems
to be out of the question until the knee is figured out. So the idea of running
the race I had been dreaming about for three years without hope of making my
goal time (4:30, to beat Oprah when she ran the NYC Marathon in 1994) was
devastating.

I tried to throw out a goal time. “Just run to finish,” I
told myself. “You’ll still beat the 99% of people who have never finished a
marathon.”

Yeah, so that mentality is really hard for me to get my head
and my heart around. I was born to compete. I blame it on my mom—she slid into
third base playing church league softball while she was pregnant with me. We
are competitors, and we come to give it our all, knee or fetus be damned.

I needed to restructure. My longest run to that point had
been 17, and I did AMAZING of that run. Felt great, minimal soreness after
(beside balloon knee), and was very confident that 9 more would be possible in
a few months.

Post 17-miler while on vacay

I had to take my original schedule off my bedroom wall, and
replace it with a running schedule that only included 3 runs a week, with the
longest being 15. I was heartbroken.

Well, my knee seemed to get much better (thank you lord
jesus to whoever invented cortisone shots, you are my hero) after the
cortisone, and one beautiful Sunday morning, I banged out 21.5. I didn’t
believe my watch. I went for 18, and just felt so good that I just kept running
like Forrest frickin’ Gump. The rest of the training was so easy after that. I
hit Taper Town and I knew I could do it. I would finish. It would likely take
me over 5 hours, but I would finish.

Race day rolled around with all the nerves and excitement
that I expected. A note about the Twin Cities Marathon course: I grew up on it.
My parents live a block off the Mississippi River parkway, so I would say I had
run before on about 20 miles of the course at least. There is a good 13-mile chunk
in the middle that I trained on almost everyday because that’s near where I
live. I know the course like the back of my hand. Every turn, hill, drinking
fountain, port-a-potty, I could run the middle part of the TC Marathon in my
sleep. I had people coming to watch me all along the second half of the course.
It was home court advantage, which with my bum knee and anxiety level on high,
I knew I needed.

It was supposed to be rainy and cold on race day, but I woke
up to blue skies (actually, it was still dark out, but by the time I got to the
start line, the sky was blue) and temps in the upper 40s. I couldn’t believe my
luck. No rain! I can handle almost any condition weather-wise, but rain is my
nemesis. Give me -20 degrees. Give
me snow. I’m a Minnesotan, give me sleet and ice for Christ’s sake. But with an
unstable knee, the last thing I needed was to slip on a wet patch of pavement
and eat shit and get trampled.

The start line

I started with my friend Sonja and her friend Mary. These ladies have a solid 15 years on me, and
both have had 3 kids and they both kicked my ass. I knew I shouldn’t have
started with them, but I wanted the camaraderie early on, since I had no
spectators coming until later in the race. We ran our first few miles in 9:37
splits. WAY TOO FAST. Like 2 minutes per mile faster than I should have
started. I normally run right around a 10-minute mile, so for the marathon, I should
have started around an 11-minute mile. I stayed with them until mile 6 and then
told them to leave me since I was going to slow down.

I honestly felt amazing for the first 10 or 11 miles. I got
water at most of the water stops, didn’t stop to walk once, was loving the
spectators (they say the TC Marathon is a 26 mile block party and it’s
completely true), and enjoying the sunshine. By the time we got to Lake
Nokomis, which is three miles around and the farther end marks the 13.1 halfway
point, I was starting to feel a little tired. It was also clouding up.

Right at the halfway marker, I saw my first spectators. My
cousins Ruth and Bart, who are the closest thing I have to older siblings, were
there with their son Wesley. I didn’t even see them, but above the din of
runners passing me and people cheering, I heard Ruth’s voice, “Car! Here she
comes!” I still couldn’t see them, and then all of a sudden, they were in front
of me and I could hear Wesley (age 2) yelling, “That one’s my Uncle Carlye!”
(He switches back and forth between Auntie Carlye and Uncle Carlye).

The top pretty much sums up me and Wesley's relationship...

I got a
little teary, stopped for hugs and kisses, Bart snapped a bunch of pictures, I
threw my running jacket at them, told Wesley that I loved him, and off I went.
Seeing my family at that point was crucial. Ruthie screaming at me, “you can do
it, you’re DOING it, Car,” made me so proud and motivated to keep going.

I didn’t have to wait long until I saw my #1 fan. Some of
our family friends live on the parkway at mile 14, so I planned to run into
their house to use the bathroom, run right back out onto the course, and keep
on my way. I wasn’t expecting my dad to be there, but as I’m chugging towards
the Johnsons house, I see the familiar green rain jacket and face hidden by a
camera. “Dad!” I screamed and we hugged, I ran in to pee, got a HUGE glass of
ice water from dear Amy, and kept on going.

Dad!

Holy ass sweat, Batman.

Mile 16 was when the rain started. It had been clouding up
since I got to the lake, but at 16 it was a steady rain. Remember how I said I
dreaded running in the rain? Well once it started, I started struggling
mentally. Marathons are mostly mental, so when I saw my old roommate and her
mom at mile 17, the first (and maybe only) thing I said to her was “Bec, I’m so
tired. I’m so tired and wet. I’m wet, I hate this.” But a smiling face helped
me get up to my parents house at mile 19, where I knew they were waiting for me
with a bag I had packed the night before.

As I climbed the hill at 19, the hill I know best and
dreaded worst, all I could think was “don’t cry when you see your mom. Don’t
cry, dad will be taking pictures, don’t cry.” I was crying the second I saw
them in the distance. My mom in her purple rain jacket and my dad in his green
one. They have come to every race I have ever run, and it seems to rain for a
lot of my races, so as soon as I see the jackets, I know I will get a boost
emotionally.

don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry

I made it up to my parents and promptly cried saying, “Mom,
I’m so tired, I want to be done. Mom, can we just go home now?” As I scarfed
down a banana (I hadn’t really eaten anything until this point), my mom lit a
fire within me, saying, “you can do this. Across the bridge, up the big hill,
and you’re home. You’ve come this far, you’re not quitting now.” My dad told me
he was proud of me. I cried. I hugged my parents, clinging a few seconds longer
than normal, and with a look of determination ugly tear-stained mug on my face, I set off to conquer the rest of the race.

I wasn’t sure when or even if I would have any spectators
until the end, so I was prepared for a 5 mile slog. See what happened there? I
miscounted the miles left after mile 19 in my delirious state, and instead of 5
miles to go, I had 7. A rude awakening at the 20-mile marker, believe me. Once
I crossed the Franklin Bridge, I could feel the “wall” creeping up on me. I saw
one of my best friends from high school and her boyfriend standing in the rain
on the St. Paul side of the bridge. I stopped to chat with them. We laughed
about my mile counting snafu. Larry told me I had already run more miles than
he would ever run in his life. I had a laugh and off I went.

Miles 20-23 were hard as hell.I was cold, wet, and tired. Each step felt like I was moving
cement blocks on my feet. I had plugged my music in around mile 12 (I think, I
don’t really remember now) and I wasn’t feeling it. I was hitting a wall big
time.

Around mile 22.5, I saw my roommate and my college friend.
Bryan and Alana ran about half a mile with me, chatting, lifting my spirits,
cracking jokes etc. It was clutch, since I was struggling so badly at that
point. Standing in the rain at mile 23 were my nanny baby and her dad, with a
homemade sign that said “SIENA SAYS GO CARLYE!”. Siena screamed when she saw
me, “It’s my Carlye, it’s my Carlye, she’s running fast!” I got a little teary
as I had to kiss her goodbye and keep running. I wanted to stop so badly, but I
was in it for the long haul.

One hour after her plane landed, one of my best friends, Dana,
came out to stand in the rain and wait for me at mile 24. I think all I said
was, “Dana, I’m so tired, I’m fucking over this, I’m wet, I’m tired, I don’t
know if I want to keep going.” Dana has known me long enough to know that what
I needed at that point was a Jillian Michaels pep talk. And she let me have it.
I choked back tears and nodded as she bobbed along next to me, telling me that
I’m not a quitter, I’m brave, I’m hardcore etc. She ran with me for a few
blocks and breathed air into my legs. She reminded me that I was less than 20
minutes from being done.

Mile 25 was awful. At this point, I was run-walking since I
was tired, cold, and wet. But something clicked for me after Dana said 20
minutes left. I started thinking, “I have less than one episode of New Girl
left in this race.” And I kicked it.

As I rounded the curve and could see the state capital, I
started crying. I knew I was almost done. I knew I could do it. I knew I would
feel proud for the rest of my life. I ran downhill with ease, and entered the
final sprint. The people were a blur as I whizzed plodded past
them. I searched for my parents. I couldn’t see the rain jackets. But it was
then that I realized that the race wasn’t for them. It wasn’t about making my
parents or friends or family proud of me, although it did and that feels damn
good. It was about making ME proud of me. I then focused straight ahead and powered
myself across the finish line.

le finish line

Just as I was crossing, I heard my mom scream my
name but didn’t turn my head to look. I don’t remember the announcer saying my
name, I just remember saying to myself, “I can do this, I can do this, I JUST
DID THIS!” I slowed to a walk, tears flowing freely, and bowed to the medal
lady. She hung my medal around my neck and said congratulations. I think I
stammered “thank you,” but I’m not sure I was even coherent at that point.
Someone wrapped me in mylar, and I hugged that blanket close to my chest.

I walked through the corrals to get food and my coveted
marathon shirt. After I had my shirt, my mind went into panic mode. There were
so many people, how was I ever going to find my parents? I started to cry
again, and was just wandering around calling out for them. Pathetic, huh?

Finally I saw them. They had their backs to me, and as I
hobbled sloooooowly towards them, I called for them. They didn’t hear me, so I
just kept limping and calling. Finally my dad saw me, and they both came
running over. My dad scooped me up, mylar and all, and hugged me so tight. A
few seconds later, my mom clawed me away from him and hugged me, tears
streaming down her face and mine and kept whispering in my ear, “you did it.
You did it. You’re a marathoner. You did it. My girl did it.” I could have
stayed there forever, squished between my parents (they were basically holding
me up at that point) tears and love and pride flowing from all of us. I cried
because I missed my sister, and wished she could have been there for that
moment. I get teary just thinking about that moment, with my parents, my #1
fans, who have been there for me every step of my life, physically lifting me
up after I completed my biggest accomplishment to date.

Proud

Then my mom said the worst thing you could say to someone
who has just run 26 miles in the rain. “We had to park about a half mile away.”
Before we left, I had my dad take my picture with the capital in the
background. I look disgusting but it’s a memory I will cherish forever. I was
able to skype with my sister on my phone in the car on the way home. I cried
some more because I missed her. She made me laugh. I received over 15 different
texts from people congratulating me and asking how it went. I took a long, hot
shower, and promptly parked my ass down on my parents couch in my sweatpants
for the rest of the day.

5:11:18 might not be a great time to some, and it is way
slower than I wished for, but now I know that you can’t measure successful runs
by time or your place in your age group/gender. You measure them by setting a
goal, busting your ass, and completing your goal. I have never been more proud
of myself in all my life. I did it. I was a marathoner. I am a marathoner. I
have a brand spankin’ new 26.2 bumper sticker on my car and a lifetime
membership to one of the most exclusive clubs. Only 1% of people will finish a
marathon in their lifetime, and once you’ve done it, you get to be a member of
the club forever.

Just like childbirth (so I hear), after you run a marathon,
you kind of forget the pain of it all and want to sign up for another one.
That’s where I’m at right now, but first I need to get this knee thing figured
out. I’m looking to do a little destination running as well. Nashville? Disney?
Napa-Sonoma?